Tattoo
by Scotty1609
Summary: Dick is still reeling from the loss of his baby brother. In order to try and bring him out of his depression, Roy takes him to get a tribute tattoo. But, when Bruce sees the tattoo, Dick has to stand up to his ex-mentor. WARNINGS: cursing and potential spoilers


**My repsonse to Batman Incorperated... STUPID DC COMICS I HATE YOU WHYWOULDYOUKILLMYBABYGAHHHHHHHHHHHH?!**

**Anyways, this is a Roy and Dick friendship fic! Not to menton Timmy and Dickie bonding with a dash of Bruce being Bruce!**

**I don't own DC comics, because if I did, the New 52 would NOT EXIST! :[**

**Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

The sky in Bludhaven was dank and dreary, storm clouds above. There was a light drizzle of rain pittering on the ground and the buildings. People were rushing to get home before the sprinkling turned to all-out pouring. Except for two built young men wearing jackets, their heads ducked to avoid the rain, as they darted towards a high-end tattoo parlor.

Stepping in the door, the instant aura of the parlor was red and black with crosses and mythical creatures on the walls. The red-haired young man stood up straight, grinning and shaking his head to rid it of water droplets. The other young man, with a black fauxhawk that had been withered by the rain, chuckled at his friend as he ran his fingers through his bangs. ″Dude,″ the red-head spoke, ″I hate water.″

″So you're a cat now? Or maybe a witch?″

″Shut up, _Dick_.″

Dick laughed, elbowing his friend. Despite his smiles, Dick's heart was still filled with distress and anguish. The young vigilante had been stuck in a rut for the past several months, filled t the brim with a depression that he couldn't shake. He had dove head-first into his work, both at Bludhaven Police Department and as his nighttime persona of Bludhaven's hero, Nightwing. His friends expressed their worry for him, but he shook them off. It wasn't until Roy showed up at his apartment the night before and taken away his beer that Dick let someone in.

Now, after talking about the root of the problem from the middle of the night to early the next morning, the friends were at a tattoo parlor so that Dick could deal with his depression and get on with his life.

As they waited for someone to come to the front, Dick was shuffling his feet and shaking. Roy cocked an eyebrow at his friend and nudged him lightly in the side. ″Hey, bro, what's up?″

Dick licked his lips and sighed, his normally bright blue eyes dull and worried. ″Do you _really_ think this is gonna help?″

Roy paused, blinking. He thought back to the numerous tattoos he had on his body, all of them meaningful and holding their own heartbreaking story. ″Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean... it's not gonna make the pain go away, but it'll be a big help to get over that first bump.″

Dick snorted, feeling another of the common waves of anguish he'd been having recently wash over his body, and shook his head. ″Bump? More like mountain...″

Roy nodded, placing a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. He squeezed tightly, trying to show some support. _C'mon, Dick. You're my little bro... I can't stand to see you hurting like this._

″Hey, guys! What can I hook you up for?″

The two friends turned to see a bald man with tattoos trailing up his arms and neck. He grinned at them, his face warm and kind despite his fierce appearance. ″I'm Doug,″ he said, holding out a hand. Roy took it and shook it strongly, grinning.

″I'm Roy, and this is my main man, Dick.″

Doug nodded to Dick as he shook his hand. ″So, which of you's getting' marked up today? Red or Pretty Boy?″ Roy laughed, and Dick rolled his eyes. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. _Although it _may _be time for a haircut..._

″Pretty Boy here's getting' his first tat!″ Roy exclaimed like the proud older brother he was. Doug nodded and gestured for the two to follow him back to his station. Dick removed his jacket and undershirt, showing off large muscles and numerous scars. Doug's eyes widened and he whistled.

″_Damn_, dude. Ya'll street-runners or what?″

Roy chuckled, and Dick grinned. ″Naw,″ said the raven-haired man. ″I'm a detective for BPD.″ Doug made an 'ah' noise and thumped Dick's shoulder.

″Dude, ya'll saved my little bro, ya hear? Knocked some sense into 'im with that 'Teen Correction' thing ya got. Straightened him out quick! Thanks for that.″

Dick nodded in reply. He worked directly with the Juvenile Correction team, being the BPD's on-hand child expert. He had seen many teenagers walk in and out of the Police Department, completely changed. The thought made him tear up a bit as he thought of his reason for coming. Another wave washed over him, and he quieted.

Roy, sensing the sudden change in demeanor, turned to the man. ″The tat's on me.″ Dick looked up, mouth open to object, but Roy cut him off. ″I'm paying for it- so make it _good_.″

Doug laughed. ″A'ight, brother. Now, waddaya thinkin' 'bout getting' done, Pretty Boy?″

Dick shifted in his seat. He hadn't exactly decided what he wanted, but he knew the main idea. ″I want a bird,″ he lifted a hand to his chest, ″on my heart.″

Doug pulled out a sketchpad and pencil as he listened. ″A'ight. What kinda bird?″

″A robin.″

The artist paused, chuckling. But, when he saw at the doleful seriousness on Dick's face, he sobered up. ″Alright. How big you want it?″

″Not too big,″ Dick replied, thinking hard. ″Probably... Probably about the same size as my heart, actually. I want a robin in flight-″

″What about a banner?″ Roy asked, his hand once again on Dick's shoulder. Dick nodded slowly, still in deep thought.

Doug cocked an eyebrow. ″This a tribute tat?″

Dick's breath caught in his throat, and he froze. Roy squeezed his shoulder, a face of sadness over his features. ″Yeah,″ he answered for his friend, ″yeah it is.″

Doug nodded, coming to understand his customer's depression and quietness a bit more. He finished up the sketch, leaving a small banner beneath the image of the flying robin blank. ″What should it say?″

His voice cracking slightly, Dick said, ″1999 – 2012, for my Robin'.″

Doug whistled. _Damn... whoever this kid was, he was young..._ ″Ya' mind tellin' me the meaning?″ he asked gently, too gently for a man of his appearance and work status, as he sanitized Dick's chest, laying the temporary ink stencil over his heart.

Dick took a deep breath as he laid back in the chair, letting it out slowly as he fought tearing up. _Really? Tearing up in a damn tattoo parlor? You'll get the crap knocked out of you, Grayson!_

″My little brother...″ he began, swallowing back the pain, ″my littlest brother... _died_ a few months ago...″

Doug hissed. ″Damn, dude, 'm sorry for your loss.″

Dick nodded, licking his lips again from nerves. ″Yeah... He was kind of a loner and- well, he was a trouble kid.″

Doug chuckled as he loaded his gun with ink. ″Been there, man.″

″Yeah... he was my little brother, though... I kinda took care for him for a while when our dad was off in another country. Long-term vacation. He's a white collar guy.″ Doug grunted his acknowledgment. ″He was a hard kid to deal with, but... I loved him- _love_ him. He was a strong kid.″

″Why the robin?″

Dick and Roy exchanged a glance, and Dick spoke, ″Nickname.″ Doug cocked an eyebrow, but didn't push the matter. He could ask, but he didn't want to make his customers uncomfortable. Plus, he understood where Pretty Boy was coming from. _If I ever lost Terry... damn, I dunno what I'd do._

″Gotcha, man.″ Doug stopped himself before he began the tattoo. ″Now, this is your first tat, right?″

″Right.″

″Ya gotta know it's gonna hurt like a bitch, though, yeah? 'specially since it's on ya heart.″

Dick nodded, swallowing and breathing heavily. ″It ought to. I need it to. I need to remember it.″

Doug shook his head. _Damn dude... I don't wanna ask, but... _″Why?″

Dick bit his lip, not replying. Doug swore inwardly, kicking himself in his head. ″Don' worry 'bout it, Pretty Boy. I'll fix ya up a badass tat and you'll never forget ya bro. Honest.″

Roy took off his jacket to reveal a short-sleeved shirt. Doug took note of the red-head's numerous tattoos. ″Yeah, Dick. He woulda' kicked your ass for getting it, but you _know_ he woulda' loved it.″

Dick snorted. ″Yeah. Yeah he would've...″

As Doug began, he groped for topics to discuss. He normally was able to talk about the tattoo with his customers, but he knew this was a different case. This tattoo held too much pain, and the red-head obviously wanted to take his friend's mind off of that right now. ″Why don't'cha tell me 'bout some'a your tats, Red?″

Roy grinned and rolled his sleeves up, showing off a tribal tattoo roping around his bicep. ″The tribal is for my parents. I was raised on an Indian reserve, and my parents died in a wildfire.″ Doug winced. _Good job, jerk. Now you're bringin' up bad stuff for Red, too!_ ″It was way back, though,″ Roy said when he saw Doug wince. Roy gestured to his shoulder of the same arm to show a small bird perched on an arrow. ″This's for my adoptive parents. Well, my adoptive dad and his girlfriend at the time. They're married now- _finally_.″

Dick laughed, and Doug suspected that the two were classic lovebirds. ″I got the arrow 'cuz my dad loves archery, and the canary is like a nickname for Dinah.″ Doug made the assumption that Dinah was Red's 'mom' figure.

″Cool.″ Doug eyed a tattoo on Roy's forearm. It looked like a tribute, with the arrows and flowers with a banner trailing along his muscles. He hesitated to ask, but did anyways. ″What's that?″

Dick winced, and Doug knew it wasn't from the tattooing.

Roy ignored his friend as he said, ″Tribute for my daughter. She passed away a couple years ago... She was six.″

″Damn...″ Doug hissed. ″World's gone to shit, tha's for sure, man. Sorry 'bout'cha little girl...″ _Damn, I need to spend more time playin' dress-up with _my _baby girl... Never know when... _that _could happen..._

Roy shrugged, blinking back tears. ″I'm dealing with it.″

The three men continued their small talk for a while until Doug leaned back, grinning. ″You're done.″

Dick grinned back. ″I thought you said that was gonna hurt.″

″Damn, kid. Ya _must_ be Superman if a tat on your frickin' _heart_ don't hurt!″

Dick and Roy both laughed at that, and Doug felt, yet again, that he was missing out on something. Dick leaned forward to sit up as he peered into the mirror. The young man froze for a minute, his eyes fixated on the new addition to his chest. Roy and Doug waited patiently, anxiously, for the young man's reaction.

Then, Dick's eyes began to water, and he put a hand over his mouth as he groped for words. Roy grinned, and Doug let out a sigh of relief at his customers' reactions. Dick let out a shuddering breath, a single tear falling down his cheek as he gazed at the tattoo. ″Damn, Doug... I mean- just- damn...″

The robin was bright red, but its feathers were accentuated to where they were tinted yellow with sunlight. The bird had bright blue eyes to match the light blue banner reading _'1999 – 2012'_ above the words _'For my Robin'_ beneath the larger piece.

Dick was overcome with emotion for a moment and sunk his head between his knees, trying to get a hold of himself. Doug looked to Roy, who clapped the artist on the back and mouthed, 'He loves it'. After several long, tedious moments, Dick sat back up, his eyes a slight tint of red. ″Thanks, Doug. I... I mean- thanks.″

Doug smirked, shaking Dick's hand firmly. ″That's a good tat, Pretty Boy. In more way than one.″

Dick and Roy paid for the tattoo, then left the shop.

The sky had cleared up a bit, the sun peaking out against the horizon. Dick shoved his hands into his jean pockets, wanting nothing more than to run home and just stare at his tattoo in the mirror all day. As he looked up at the sun, catching people walking down the streets out of the corners of his eyes, the young man allowed a soft smile- a _real_ smile- to grace his features.

Roy glanced over at his best friend and saw the smile on Dick's face. He felt a lump grow in his throat when he saw the curling of the younger man's lips. It seemed like ages since Roy had seen a real smile on his little brother's face, and he would do _anything_ to get it to stay there.

* * *

The cave was dark and dank, bats chirping and grunts filling the large, open air. There was a soft dripping in the background as stalactites dripped onto the stone floor. Bruce Wayne, dressed in the infamous Batsuit- minus the cowl- sat at his supercomputer as he worked on a case. Over on the blue training mats, Dick and his younger brother, Tim, were sparring. Tim grunted as he blocked a blow, whirling around to deliver one of his own. Dick caught the fist with ease and threw his brother over his shoulder, laughing loudly as Tim began to curse at him.

″Try again, kiddo!″ Dick called with a grin.

Tim's eyes narrowed at his brother. ″You _know_ I'm almost nineteen, now, _right_? I think '_kiddo_' isn't an appropriate term anymore.″

Dick felt a pang in his chest as he realized what Tim said was true. The young vigilante had come a long way from his twelve-year-old self that Dick first met.

″Right. I knew that.″ Dick ruffled Tim's hair, feeling upset when he realized that his little brother was taller than him by a few inches. ″Just messin' with you.″

The two went back about sparring, and Dick's mind drifted off. The two eventually called a tie and went over to the water horse to drink. Tim took off his under armor shirt, nodding at Dick and motioning for him to do the same. Without a second thought, Dick shed his sweat-drenched shirt.

Tim's eyes widened, and his jaw almost dropped. Dick cocked an eyebrow. ″What?″

″When did you get _that_?″ the younger man hissed, blue eyes wide as he stared at the ink on Dick's chest. Dick came to the sudden realization that Tim was talking about his new addition and smiled softly, lifting a hand to touch the bird's feathers in the image.

″It's a tattoo. Roy and I went last week and I got it done. Like it?″

Tim took a step forward, inspecting the image. He took note of the individual feathers that could be seen, dark red around the edges that faded to a ruby color around the robin's puffed-out, fluffy chest. The bird's eyes were a bright, opaque blue that was hinted white with sunlight. The feathers, too, showed aspects of the sun shining down on the bird with their tinge of golden-yellow along the back and upper sides of the feathers. The bird's beak was sharp and shiny, making Tim feel like he would prick himself if he touched it. A blue-tinted banner beneath the bird read '_1999 – 2012, For my Robin_'. Tim found himself touching the tattoo with his fingertips, making Dick giggle as the cold hand tickled his chest.

″Like it, Timmy?″

″It's... beautiful.″ Tim couldn't find anything wrong with the photo-realistic image, and the fact of the dates and the message... _Damn... maybe I should get a tattoo for the Demon Brat... I miss him... Dammit, Tim! Don't tear up, now! You wuss..._

Dick voiced his agreement. ″Yeah. I thought so, too... Do you think he'd like it?″

Tim nodded back. ″I think he would. He would want to get one to show off how tough he is... was...″ The younger man looked away, face downcast. Dick bit his inner lip, eyes downcast. Then, he put a hand on Tim's shoulder.

″Maybe I can take you to get one. It doesn't have to look _exactly_ like mine, but maybe... maybe you could get a tribute tattoo, too?″ He said it in mostly a question rather than a statement.

Tim managed to plaster a grin on his face. ″I'd like that. Really.″

″Dick, I need you to- _what is that_?″

Dick and Tim whirled around to see Bruce standing off to the side, his Bat-glare focused on the inking on Dick's chest, as if he could glare at it hard enough to make it crawl off his oldest son's body. Tim gulped and glanced over at Dick, who had a dark look in his eyes. It startled Tim to see the shadows that seemed to pulsate from his older brother's gaze. Normally, Dick was cheery and kind to everyone... But he supposed recent happenings could explain that with ease... To see Dick focus his dark, hateful stare upon their father, though- it was... _different_.

Dick pulled himself up to his complete five foot ten height, his eyes narrowing even further as he glared at his father. ″It's a tattoo.″

″I _see_ that,″ Bruce growled as he walked closer. ″Why the _Hell_ is it on your body, where people could _recognize _it and _unmask_ you? Seriously, Dick, why would you-″

″It's a _tribute tattoo_,″ Dick snarled, fists clenching. Tim took a step back as he saw his older brother flexing his hands and arms, his chest tightening as his eyes squeezed shut. He blew air out of his nose and mouth, and Tim realized that he was trying to calm down before he said something or did something stupid that he would regret.

Meanwhile, Dick was running scenarios through his head. _I could explode at him, but that would take us back about five or six years, which will do _no one_ any good... Or I could just leave, but that would only prolong the having to tell him... I already told Tim, and I need to tell Bruce. I _need_ to. Not just to get it off my chest or get his permission or something- _especially_ not to get his permission, I mean, I'm over twenty frickin' years old- I just... need to _tell_ him... Need to... _explain_ the... significance..._

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Dick cut him off by raising a hand. ″It's a tribute tattoo for _Damian_, Bruce... The years on it... '_1999 – 2012_'. Don't tell me the World's Greatest Detective can't figure _that_ out?″

Bruce paused, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, he closed his mouth. _Dick is an adult... I can't technically do anything about it... Dammit... But then again... It's not too shabby. Obviously done at a high-end parlor... So long as he doesn't die of infection or something..._

The older man walked forward and stood directly in front of his eldest son, eyes softening as he looked at the addition. He put his gloved hand on the acrobat's chest, feeling the slight rise in skin to show the newness of the tattoo. As he inspected the image, Dick glanced over at Tim, who looked exceptionally nervous for his brother as he looked at Bruce.

Finally, the billionaire pulled back, nodding his approval. Dick and Tim both breathed sighs of relief, making Bruce chuckle to himself. ″Just make sure it _stays covered_ when you're on patrol. We don't want anyone connecting Richard Grayson and Nightwing. That would only be a step away from-″

″-Bruce Wayne and Batman. Yeah, got it, Mr. Grumpy-Pants,″ Dick said with a grin, putting his hands on his hips and jutting his chest out. ″But anyways- what do you think of it?″

Bruce let out a grunt as he pulled on his cowl, turning around. ″It's... nice.″

As Batman went back to work, Dick and Tim conversed quietly over when would be a good time for Tim to get his own tattoo. Dick was eager to do it soon, while Tim was still considering what to get.

Bruce was only half-focused on his work. His ears were tuned into his sons' conversation. A small smirk lifted at the corners of the Dark Knight's mouth as he typed up a report. _It's a very... good thing. It's helping him cope, I can tell... Helping _them_ cope... I bet it was Harper's idea... I'll have to thank him for that... I'll take monitor duty off his name for a week. That should be sufficient. _As Bruce heard his sons' laughter and happy voices, he felt something growing in his chest. _Alright. A month. But no more... Hm... Maybe _I _should get one, too..._

* * *

**SO EMOTIONAL! GAH! MAH BABBIES! DC COMIKS CURZES YOUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSZZZZZ!**

**ps: I'm in love. His name is Haagen Dasz Frozen Yogurt... yeah.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! ((sorry about any OOC-ness... I know a lot of people would assume Bruce would be really pissed and make Dick get rid of the tattoo, but I think he would understand in this situation...))**


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